They were all good reasons to sell the house, she could see that, but if it was gone there wouldn’t even be a house to visit to remind her of home. A bitter bile rose in her throat as she tried desperately not to cry.
‘I honestly thought I could live there by myself,’ Dan continued. ‘But there’s just too much memory. And it’s just so damn big. That house should be full of kids, not one bloke rattling around, spooked by the ghosts of his childhood.’
She shook her head, still unwilling to agree, and he reached across and took her chin gently in one hand. She dropped her gaze. She would not be mesmerised by those eyes. Not now.
‘The house is not the family, sweetheart. And it’s not your past. It’s a big pile of stone, nothing more.’
Easy for him to say. But that pile of stone held her last memories of home. Of Kate.
‘I think we’re finished here, don’t you?’ She straightened her shoulders and downed the wine in her glass in one long, desperate swallow, keeping her eyes on him as she upended the glass. His eyes widened in surprise although he said nothing.
She lowered the empty glass and handed it to him. ‘Ready?’ She turned on her heel and started across the beach towards the water. She knew she was behaving badly but she was sick of silently accepting everything. Her mother’s foster children, like a crowd of noisy baby sparrows all chirping and shrieking for her attention. Nelson’s lack of love and consideration. And now Dan, who’d been given this enormous gift, was selling the family home. She had no right to object but it didn’t mean she had to like it. She didn’t have to stand by with a pretty smile plastered on her face, just as she’d done all her life, while inside she was breaking in two.
Not any more.
She didn’t bother looking back but splashed into the shallows and headed for the boat. The water got deeper, the gentle waves reaching higher, and moments later she heard Dan behind her. By the time she reached the boat and the water was near her waist, he wasn’t far behind.
She grasped the side and started to haul herself up.
‘Do you want to just hang on?’ The basket was placed on the side of the boat with a thud and a clink of hurriedly packed glasses. He moved in close behind, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he placed his hands around her waist to assist her lift, and a small answering shudder rippled through her body. But instead of lifting her he paused.
‘You can’t run away all your life.’
‘I don’t intend to,’ she said coldly but without much conviction. Isn’t it what she’d always done?
‘So be angry if you don’t like something. Channel a bit of bloody Sharon for God’s sake, whatever you need, but don’t run away.’
His voice cracked on the last word and she stilled.
‘Please, don’t run away again, Shelby,’ he repeated and his head dropped forward, almost in a gesture of defeat, until his forehead rested against the back of her head. The bleakness in his voice stunned her. Instead of trying to haul herself into the boat, she stood in its shadow, the water lapping around her ribs as the boat bobbed on the tide. It was cool here, away from the sun, yet the heat building between them was like a living pulse. His bare chest brushed against her back and her nipples stiffened. She gripped the side of the boat, struggling to regain her composure.
It was so soft at first that she barely registered the whisper of his lips at the base of her neck. A tingle of pure pleasure reached the tips of her ears. Recognising her response, Dan moved his lips further, tracing them along the curve of her shoulder, lingering there briefly before returning to her neck. She remained perfectly still and the sounds of the beach receded, muffled like something heard from underwater, far away, unimportant.
He turned her gently then, until she was facing him. Droplets of sea water clung to the dark hair that fanned across his broad chest and her breath caught. She glanced up and found his intense eyes on her. Then slowly she raised her hands and placed her palms on his chest. Hard muscle, smooth skin, thudding heart. She wanted. Just wanted. It was too hard to put a tag on it. She lifted her arms then and curled them around his neck and he dropped his lips to hers. Unlike last night, the kiss was gentle at first, powered by a deep urgency that seemed to say, at last. From somewhere inside her, came the answer, yes. His hand cradled her head, angling it so that he could go deeper into the kiss. Desire shot to every nerve ending of her body as her tongue sought his and he pressed closer. His hand lifted to her breast.
‘Hey, get a room.’ The good-natured shout from a nearby boat penetrated the little cocoon they’d created.
‘Good idea,’ Dan murmured against her mouth. ‘Just so happens I have one right at hand.’ He pulled away then, eyes dark with desire and a question in the tilt of his head.
She nodded and he lifted her, and she clambered over the side of the boat and waited for Dan to join her. Her pulse was thumping hard as he led her down the steps and into the cabin. It was a little stuffy and he pushed open some windows as he led her through to the double bed in the bow.
There wasn’t much clothing to remove. She reached around to unfasten her bikini top but he stayed her hand. ‘Let me.’
He took a deep breath as he looped the straps of the bra down on her shoulders. ‘If I told you that I’ve dreamed of this for about fifteen years, would you believe me?’
She hadn’t realised. All those years and the looks he’d been giving her were a tangle of lust and longing? She’d been aware of him watching her back then but she’d flick him an icy stare that would make the colour rise, staining his cheeks red. Now she felt the slow flush spread through her body.
‘I’m flattered.’
He reached around and gently undid the bra and it fell forward.
‘You’re beautiful, Shelby.’
He slid the bikini top off and tossed it on the bed without his gaze leaving her face, then pulled her to him. A large hand cupped one breast, weighing it before his thumb moved across the nipple. She shuddered and stepped back towards the bed, bringing him with her.
The scent of him was unadulterated male, his body all hard planes from physical work, and she knew that when he entered her he would possess her in ways that Nelson had never dreamed of. He’d opened his heart to her in those few bleak words, unafraid to show what she meant to him. She was going to make sure that he knew what he’d come to mean to her.
Half an hour later, when the heat of the cabin became too stifling, they pulled on some clothes and came back on deck. Dan retrieved the glasses and poured wine, and Shelby sat on the deck, her back resting against his legs as his hand played idly with her hair.
Her body was languorous with satisfaction, and the incredible ease between them, the knowledge that they could just be for the moment until passion flared again, was intoxicating. They had all day and she knew they’d make love again before they left Reef Beach. And tonight. But after that?
As though reading her thoughts, Dan stirred. ‘Sometimes you need to close a chapter on your life and move on,’ he said. She pulled away and twisted a little to look up at him, shirtless, with the top button of his shorts undone and his hair mussed. Already desire had started to rebuild, pooling deep in her belly. Perhaps he noticed because he looked away, as though he had something to say before they fell down those cabin steps and straight into bed again.
‘And sometimes you have to take a gamble.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘If I don’t say this now, if I don’t even try, you’ll leave and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.’
Shelby’s heart hammered beneath the thin cotton fabric of her T-shirt.
‘I’d like you to come home, Shelby.’
She stared at him, trying to work out what he was asking. ‘I don’t understand.’
He raked a hand through his hair, looking nervous and sheepish and incredibly gorgeous. ‘I’m probably making a hash of this, so I’ll try again. I’m asking you, please, to come back to Sydney.’
She nodded. ‘So you said.’
He gently
pulled her to her feet and twined an arm around her waist. ‘Not just to Sydney, but to me.’
When she didn’t reply, a bleak look crossed his face. ‘I can see I’ve flubbed that one. Good work, Dan.’ He stepped back, his colour beginning to rise.
‘Hey, just hang on a minute, buddy.’ Shelby gave it her best American accent and almost laughed when Dan’s eyes flared.
‘You want me to come home,’ she repeated, liking the sound of the word in her mouth. ‘To be with you. How do I know that this is going to work?’
Hope sparked in his eyes. ‘Well, we’d take it real slow at first.’
‘Yeah?’ She kept the accent going, channelling a little Mae West now. ‘How slow?’
He pulled her closer, circling her waist easily as he clasped one of her hands and draped it round his neck. Her other hand needed no encouragement to join it. Now both his hands were at her waist and his eyes fixed on hers.
Dan. Beautiful, grown-up, wonderful Dan.
‘This slow,’ he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers.
As the yacht headed back towards Kirribilli, her mobile started its distinctive ring. Dan looked into the distance, trying to ignore it, but when she reached into her bag his smile slipped.
She pressed the answer button. ‘Hi, Nelson.’
‘Hi babe. How are the flights looking? I need you here.’ Nelson invested the word ‘need’ with the sort of innuendo that made Shelby’s flesh crawl. At the tiller, Dan’s jaw was rigid as he pretended not to listen to her side of the conversation.
‘I haven’t had a chance, I’ve been out all day.’
On the other end of the line Nelson blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Hang on, I just need to sign something.’ She waited while he not only signed but continued to have a short conversation with his secretary. Shelby looked at Dan and shrugged. She was used to being put on hold and expected to happily wait until Nelson’s attention finally came back to her.
‘You there? Listen, I want you here. I had Cheryl check with United and you could be out of there on any of their flights. So what’s the delay?’
‘There is no delay. I still haven’t finished what I came here for.’ Dan’s eyes slid across to her, a small smile playing about his lips.
‘Damn it, Shelby. When the hell are you coming home?’
Shelby looked out over the water and lifted her face to the sun, letting Nelson wait. Finally, with the fresh salty breeze blowing in her hair, she turned and looked straight into Dan’s eyes. ‘I am home.’
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Trevor, for our beautiful Kirribilli times and for making every day like Christmas.
And to Sasha Cottman and Leesa Bow, the SWBs, thank you for your encouragement and support.
About the Author
Louise Reynolds is an author of contemporary romantic fiction. Born in Sydney, she spent her childhood frolicking on beaches before moving to Melbourne at age 10. After one look at Melbourne beaches she got a library card and started to read.It was a logical step to take her love of romance novels to the next stage and tell her own stories. After some success in writing competitions she's thrilled that her warm, heartfelt romances have found an audience.
By day, she works in the commercial lighting industry, lighting anything from bridges to five star hotels. By night, she's working her way through a United Nations of fictional heroes.
After a lifetime of kissing frogs one finally turned into a prince and she lives with her partner in Melbourne's inner north. She loves live jazz, cooking complicated meals that totally destroy the kitchen, and dining out. She has embraced Melbourne by wearing far too much black.
Also by Louise Reynolds
Her Italian Aristocrat
Outback Bride
Red Dirt Duchess
PENGUIN BOOKS
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies
whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2014
Text copyright © Louise Reynolds 2014.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover design by Grace West © Penguin Group (Australia)
Cover photographs by: Water and sky: Dario Lo Presti/Shutterstock.com; Sydney: CoolR/Shutterstock.com; Church: Jesse Raaen/Flickr; Woman: Lev Kropotov/Shutterstock
eISBN: 978-1-760-14114-1
penguin.com.au
CHAPTER ONE
It was one hell of a punishment.
Jonathan Hartley-Huntley stared out the plane’s window at the stretch of desert below. They seemed to have been in the air forever, flying over endless miles of red dirt and low, sage-coloured scrub, a barren landscape perfectly suited to his mood.
He checked his watch again and frowned. It was precisely thirty-five minutes since they’d left the tiny outback airport at Longreach, but before that there’d been the interminable flight from Heathrow to Australia and an overnight stay in Sydney.
And with every flight, as though underscoring his editor’s anger, the aircraft had become smaller until he’d ended up here, jammed into a tiny Cessna and cursing fate.
Jon shifted his legs restlessly. Hemmed in next to the pilot in a cabin that seemed overly small for two large men, claustrophobia gripped him. He was used to the attentions of attractive flight attendants, a reclining seat and drinks service, not the bank of dials and knobs that flashed and clicked alarmingly, as well as the second control stick which seemed to invite him, if he were so inclined, to take over. And every time the other man twisted in his seat Jon caught a waft of eau de bush pilot.
He’d caught the pilot’s look of scorn when he’d boarded, his designer jeans, Italian linen shirt and expensive watch contrasting with the pilot’s grubby khaki shorts and shirt.
Ahead, a silver shimmer, alluring as a desert mirage, glistened on the horizon. As they drew closer he could see that the landscape was sluiced with water, running in interconnected webs of sky-blue channels, edged with brilliant green where grass had sprung up. The arterial mosaic stretched into the distance, covered with huge flocks of water birds that took synchronised flight as the aircraft passed overhead.
A hundred-year flood event in the Australian outback was news. And because of one error of judgement, one tiny blip on his record, Jon’s editor Caro had decided that an assignment with a little more rigour was required. Something that pulled him away from his cushy niche reviewing five-star resorts and arty big-city hotels and hurled him straight into wilderness travel. It was her way of showing who was in control. He rubbed a hand over a bristled jaw and scowled. He’d do the damned story. He’d be in and out of this place in twenty-four hours and back to civilisation. And he’d never make the same mistake again.
The pilot glanced across from the controls. ‘Up ahead, mate. That’s the Bindundilly Hotel.’
Jonathan squinted out the window. A lone building sat on the horizon, a squat blob hunkered down on a wide plain and thrown into stark relief against the blindingly blue sky. Unease made him sit forward, watching as the plane ate up the distance.
Within minutes they’d reached it. Below, a large, deeply sloping corrugated-iron roof, almost covered by black-painted letters and numbers, topped a low stone building sitting at the intersection of two dirt roads. The rear of the building was flanked by water tanks, and a surprising number of four-wheel drives were pulled up outside. It was the only building in sight.
‘That’s it?’ Jonathan gav
e a disbelieving laugh and turned to the pilot. ‘That’s Bindundilly?’ His voice faltered over the ridiculous name. ‘What’s the writing on the roof?’
‘Radio frequency.’ The pilot leaned forward and pushed some of the controls. ‘They’ve got the phone on, of course, but if some bloody Pom wanders off into the desert, radio is the only way to coordinate a search out here to find the bastard.’ He grinned and gave Jonathan the thumbs up.
Jonathan had no intention of wandering off into the desert. He’d been looking forward to a cool glass of sauvignon blanc, a long, hot shower and a soft bed. Fat chance of that now.
The plane turned and banked abruptly, the wing dropping low over the hotel as the engine roared. Jonathan gripped the armrests. ‘What the —’
‘Hang on, mate. We buzz the hotel to let them know we’re here and they’ll come out to the airstrip to pick you up.’
The plane did another pass, dropping in altitude until it levelled and landed on a bumpy airstrip about half a kilometre from the hotel. It coasted to a stop and then the engine cut. Wind buffeted the plane and, reluctantly, Jonathan unclipped his seatbelt and peered out the window. There was no one waiting. ‘So how long before they get here?’
The pilot opened the door and put the steps down. ‘She’ll be here, don’t worry.’
Jonathan stepped out into a blast of hot air, his highly polished tan boots instantly coated in a powder of fine red dust.
The pilot was busy unpacking supplies from the side of the plane while Jonathan scanned the horizon, unease nudging him in the ribs. ‘I don’t see a car.’
‘She’ll be right, mate. No worries.’
His leather holdall was unceremoniously dumped at his feet before the pilot pulled some cartons, a canvas mailbag and a crate of plastic-wrapped lettuce from the plane. He slammed the door shut. ‘Righto, I’m off.’
A Kirribilli Christmas Page 6